


hunger makes me

by clytemnestras



Series: fem feb 2021 [4]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, Fighting over a girl, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: Agatha's arm curls around the other girl's waist, and she's sure she glances up, sure that the small little quirk of Agatha's mouth is directed right at Sabrina. It's a flicker of an expression, gone in an instant. But oh, Sabrina can tease out the subtext.Or, Sabrina & Agatha at Witch-U
Relationships: Agatha/Sabrina Spellman, Sabrina Spellman/Agatha/OFC
Series: fem feb 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132580
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	hunger makes me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firstaudrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/gifts).



> For the prompt at the [ficathon:](https://clockwork-hart1.dreamwidth.org/53291.html?view=1060907&posted=1#cmt1060907)  
>  _leave your pain here and go out and do your magnificent things._
> 
> & just generally to pick up on the Sabrina/Agatha thread in keep your proverbs short and sweet

_Oh dark goddess_ , Sabrina thinks, when the dark-haired girl sidles up to her and passes her a tall white candle that smells like sage and pepper and lemon peel. Her skin is bronzed and flawless, her smile impish and bright. 

"Welcome to the Nyx university of Shadows and Light," she says, voice like smoke.

"Happy to be here," Sabrina says, and means it, her curiosity all the greater now she's brushed against both death and godhood. Touching extremes only makes a girl hungry for the minutiae. 

The girl tucks her hair behind her ear and whispers, "Your reputation precedes you."

Sabrina flushes, but keeps her smile, like a charm, fixed upon her mouth. "Nothing too awful, I hope," she says, and the girl bites her lip and moves along to the next witch in line.

 _Weird,_ Sabrina thinks, and then shakes her head. Weird is a word she should have shucked from her lexicon years ago. It never does the things she loves any justice.

  
  
  
  


She has her head out of the dorm window, her suitcase flung onto her bed, a steaming cup of Hilda's home-sick-be-gone blend chilling on the sill beside her, when she spots the girl again. She has that witch-walk Sabrina hasn't ever quite perfected, the unself-conscious glide that seems to catch on music just beneath notice. She's caught on the same rhythm as another dark-haired girl, both of them in matching black.

She doesn't mean to watch. Sabrina has so much to do - unpacking, and finalising her classes and calling the aunties and situating herself into the first rag-tag bunch of misfits she can find loitering in the shadowy corner of the cafeteria. But she feels kind of thrillingly new in the slant of moonlight and the magick charged air that fills the campus, and if that newness comes with a new crush, all the better.

The girl laughs down below, her head tipped skyward, and the other one does it too, the flicker of her hair revealing a sharp streak of white.

_Agatha._

Suddenly the preceding reputation and the searching look seem less strange and more maddening. Sabrina knows nothing complimentary has ever passed Agatha's lips.

So much for her crush. 

Agatha's arm curls around the other girl's waist, and she's sure she glances up, sure that the small little quirk of Agatha's mouth is directed right at Sabrina. It's a flicker of an expression, gone in an instant. But oh, Sabrina can tease out the subtext.

So, it's war. 

Sabrina's always been comfortable on a battlefield.

She chooses divination for her earliest class, something that's both familiar and not, a bittersweet little needle-in-the-ribs of Roz and home. 

She sits at the front, by the window, and is lost in the view when the first harsh kick hits the back of her chair. 

She turns around with a scowl, a perfectly matched look with Agatha's. There's a clear quartz point dangling from her finger, swinging back and forth. "May the forces of the universe reveal to me whether it will take longer than a week for Sabrina to make this class all about herself."

Sabrina flicks the crystal so it shoots across the desk and out of her fingers. "Whoops," she says with a perky smile. "Guess you need to _get a better grip_."

Agatha kicks her chair again, but she's smiling, a little. 

The girl's name is Ximena, Sabrina learns, curled up on the grass in the botanical gardens. She's tucked away in the fall segment, where the sun is low and the leaves are crimson and gold. Most witches prefer the spring and summer gardens, where there's eternally a fresh burst of wildflowers, where yellow sunflowers bend and sway far above their heads, but Sabrina's Scorpio nature has always been simmering to the point of boiling over.

It's Agatha who finally introduces them, folding herself down beside Sabrina on the bed of leaves. There's snow in her hair, catching on the white streak, and that's not too surprising, either. Agatha is consistently contrary.

Put like that, you'd think they'd be friends.

Ximena is shivering when she curls up beside them, leaning a little into Agatha's side, and Agatha runs her fingers through her long, dark hair. "So," she says, lazily, a smirk hiding at the corner of her mouth. "Sabrina once slit my throat to bring a mortal boy back from the dead."

Ximena gasps, a genuine sound, peering at Sabrina from beneath the curtain of her hair.

"In my defense," Sabrina says, her teeth lightly gritted, "Agatha had placed a blood curse on me, and had killed the boy in question, who happened to be my boyfriend's brother."

"You just wanted to do some dark magic," Agatha counters, her voice affectedly bored. "It's the only way a prissy little virgin like you could get off."

Her blood boils, just a little, but then she's laughing, hard. "You know what? You could be right."

Agatha scowls. "I often am."

Ximena says something, her mouth turned in a wry smile, but Sabrina doesn't quite catch it. She's too busy watching the rhythmic movement of Agatha's fingers, running over and over through the other girl's hair.

  
  
  
  


"So," Ximena says, catching Sabrina in the library, a room she would live in if it wasn't so hard to catch hold of, slipping between realms and coming back with forbidden tomes in languages even the professors can't speak. "Black magic, huh?"

There's a sparkle in her eye, one Sabrina could match to herself, if she wanted. "What's your poison?" She asks, closing her book on thaumaturgy in the middle ages. 

Ximena purses her lips. "There was a boy," she says.

"There usually is," Sabrina agrees, the adrenaline already threatening to surge. "Revenge is a good bonding experience, I've found."

Ximena touches her fingers across the library table. Both their nails are painted red. "I couldn't agree more."

  
  
  
  


She's expecting Agatha to be there, curled around a bottle of wine in Ximena's dorm - after all, Sabrina has called on her herself to get revenge on boys. If there was a patron saint of it, Agatha's picture would be curled in the prayer card, scowling and radiant. Still, she's a little disappointed. A little attention hungry. There was something alluring about going a little dark with a girl, just the two of them, all the power in the world curled in the space between.

"You never were good at sharing," Agatha says, though her mouth doesn't move around the lip of her glass. 

An image of Nick, of Dorcas coiled around him on Lupercalia swims to the forefront of her mind, and Sabrina makes a sound unnervingly like a growl. 

"Stay out of my head," she tells Agatha, pressing an accusatory finger into her sternum.

Agatha laughs and whispers _make me_ straight into Sabrina's skull, and Ximena pushes herself between them, puzzled, and holds the red wax poppet up like a peace offering. 

"So, this boy," she says, tugging the wine out of Agatha's hands.

And then they're all smiling, darkly, ready to push a little farther than they probably should.

  
  
  
  


"You won't win, you know." Agatha tells her, slinking around the dining hall table and throwing herself into the chair beside Sabrina's. She picks three grapes from Sabrina's plate and places one between her teeth, piercing it slowly, not closing her mouth until her teeth meet.

"Excuse me?" Sabrina pulls her plate in protectively, lest she try to pilfer any of the rosemary focaccia Sabrina had begged off of the shy kitchen staffer with the crescent scar along his cheekbone. It takes more than distance to grow out of the Academy-instilled need to grab whatever you can and wolf it. 

"Ximena. You think we're in competition. Well, we're not, she's already mine." Agatha takes a sharp bite out of a shiny red apple, the imprint of her mouth uniform but for the sharp points of her canines. "I know you, Spellman, this is just another flight of fancy until you find the next apocalyptic tragedy to call a boyfriend. Or girlfriend, I guess."

Sabrina squints at her. "Because your love life has been so stellar." 

Agatha shrugs. "We're different. You have feelings. I have sex."

She almost says it. Says _Dorcas,_ in that pitying tone of voice, but that's a cruel thing to do just to get a reaction. 

Agatha would, of course.

But like the girl herself had said, they're different. Instead, she wiggles her eyebrows. "I have been known to dabble in the carnal delights."

Agatha swings her apple around by its stem, looking Sabrina up and down. "Took you long enough."

Sabrina tears off a corner of the focaccia and tips her head to the side. "You're just bitter I didn't take you guys up on the orgy." 

Agatha actually laughs at that, and not the snide kind she's used to. Sabrina has to catch herself before she preens for it, that little bit of pleasure eked out by her.

They eat in silence, after that, never quite as uncomfortable as it should be, until Agatha dumps her applecore into Sabrina's mashed potatoes and teleports away with a sharp laugh. When she looks down her grapes are all plucked from the stem and spell out _you lose_ on the mahogany table.

  
  
  
  


A guy in Sabrina's sacred geometry class coughs up a whole pig's hoof in the middle of the courtyard, still twitching and covered in the blood and flesh of the back of his throat.

Ximena gets a vicious look from a skulking group of boys and she grins at them, her head on Agatha's shoulder, her arm curled around Sabrina's elbow. They spend all night doing binding spells on each of the guys they can name, sipping elderflower gin until they're barely able to sit up. Sabrina wakes up to Ximena collapsed against her chest, her own head pillowed in Agatha's lap, her hair fanned out against all that black lace.

She's been thinking about changing it. It had felt fitting and new after she signed the book, but there's so much baggage curled into the colour now. She's itching to change something, her nails not a big enough canvas. She closes her eyes when she feels Agatha shift beneath her and keeps them squeezed shut even as her breath stutters. Agatha's fingers rake gently through her hair, straightening it out, fixing her.

It makes her stomach flutter enough to make sleep a hard-fought thing, even with the sweet, gentle rhythm of the touch.

  
  
  


They don't talk much about people from home, it makes the precarious thing they've stumbled into feel new and not rehashed. She does notice it, though, when Agatha turns away mid conversation, her eyes glazing over, her fingers tight around her own forearms. 

Sometimes it's a smile on her mouth, a little telepathic tug on their bond from Prudence. Other times it's just a haunting.

Ximena doesn't notice and Sabrina won't let her, but she does rub her thumb over Agatha's knuckles until she snatches her hand away.

  
  
  


"You have to pick one," Sabrina hears herself saying, the dandelion wine making her throat warm and her movements slow.

Her roommate is out, like she always is - there's eternally a feast day for some old god, or a hubristic pack of witches looking to bring something back from the beyond. A year ago Sabrina might have been tempted by something like that, but only if she could elbow her way to the front.

Intimacy is quickly becoming her favourite vice.

"Why should I?" Ximena asks. "We're witches." She's wearing nothing but a long, flowing skirt and a black lace bra, her soft stomach exposed, her dark nipples visible through the gaps of the weave. Sabrina swallows and forces her eyes up.

"I told you you should learn to share," Agatha says, lowly, stretched out across Sabrina's bed like a luxuriant cat. "We're all friends here."

Sabrina turns to face her fully, eyebrows raised. "Is that what we are, friends?"

Agatha yawns, her whole lithe body stretching out, her back arching, her throat tipped back. "I don't know," she says, turning onto her side like a pin-up girl. "I've never had a friend I didn't kiss with teeth."

"Maybe that's what you guys need!" Ximena tips herself forward to refill Sabrina's glass, wine sloshing over the lip and leaving her fingers wet and sticky. "Clear all that sexual tension, then we can be normal."

Sabrina's brain stumbles into a thought-car pile up - _sexual tension with Agatha? Kissing friends - wanting friends - is what she thinks normal is?_

She knows they do. They do _something,_ anyway, she's been too squeamish to press for details, but she remembers how the sisters would often sleep in a pile in the dorms, skin-to-skin. For Agatha, that _is_ normal. It's probably the closest thing she has to feeling at home.

"We don't have sexual tension," Sabrina tells her, then steals a glance at Agatha, who is smiling darkly at her. 

"That sounds like cowardice," she drawls, twirling her hair around her fingers. 

It's immature. It shouldn't work.

It works.

"Fine," Sabrina says, draining her glass and feeling the warmth suffusing through her. "Pucker up." 

Agatha rolls entirely too gracefully until she is upright, her jaw tilted up like a beckoning hand. Sabrina cups it, her jaw, feels the solidity of Agatha beneath her hands, lets her know that Sabrina can handle this. Can handle her. She pulls Agatha up, a bit, makes her move to meet her, and then their mouths are touching, soft, warm, gentle. And then Agatha parts her lips on a soft exhale and it becomes a blur of girl and warmth and the insistent press of Agatha's tongue as it slips past Sabrina's boundaries. It becomes Sabrina in Agatha's lap, pressing her body into hers, needing something to hold onto before she's washed away. Her hands are in Agatha's hair, her teeth are nipping at Agatha's lip, her thighs are spread warmly around Agatha's. She's the very shape of desire. She wants to kiss her until her mouth is numb.

"Wow," Ximena breathes, somewhere in the real world, somewhere from beyond the warmth of Agatha against her. Sabrina's eyes fly open, and she pushes herself back, breath coming hard.

"Oh dark goddess," she says, her vision a blur of shadow and skin. Her thighs squeeze involuntarily around Agatha's, her body going on without her, asking for the press of more, closer, now.

Agatha laughs beneath her, a hand curling tightly around Sabrina's hip. "I've been called worse."

She wants to slap her. She wants to kiss her again, until she's too breathless to talk. 

Ximena touches her chin, tilts it to the side. Her eyes are the darkest Sabrina has ever seen. "So," she says, "friends?"

And Sabrina nods, numbly, as she pulls her in to kiss, too.

  
  
  


It's a long night. 

Ximena holds her hair back for her in the morning, as the wine curdles in her stomach and a hangover blossoms like a fire in her skull. She has one of Ambrose's herbal blends somewhere in her drawers, but even the thought of swallowing makes her heave again.

Agatha is gone, which Sabrina expected, but her teeth mark her neck for a week, like vengeance but sweeter. Sabrina feels it for much longer, after, the ghost of the sharpness, the promise of something darker than she'd let herself ask for. 

  
  
  


They eat lunch, the three of them, curled in the winter garden, Sabrina's red hood like a bloodspot in the snow. 

Agatha curls around Ximena like a python, her long, winding limbs casually placed but implying constriction. 

She picks through Sabrina's lunch without a word, gathering her own little pile of pomegranate seeds and lavender shortbread as Ximena babbles about some guy in her charm class who blood-cursed himself when he pricked a finger on his own athame. Sabrina leans forward a little, takes the seed from between Agatha's long fingers and swallows it for herself.

 _So_ , she thinks, _friends?_

Agatha's eyes meet hers, twinkling, the image of them both entangled, Sabrina's nails carving harshly into Agatha's skin blurs the space beyond Sabrina's eyes.

 _Is that what friends do?_ Agatha's voice drifts through her head like the snow surrounding them.

 _Maybe they do,_ she thinks back. She pulls down her hood, snowflakes weaving through it, blending into the paleness.

Ximena touches it, shakes a snowflake from the ends. "I love your hair."

Agatha tilts her head and strokes Ximena's own hair. "It's too 90s," she says, curling her fingers in the dark strands. "No one still believes blondes have more fun."

"Rude," Sabrina says, but she's smiling a little, the drifting snow tickling her nose.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr! [@bohemicns](http://www.bohemicns.tumblr.com), let's chat!


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